


Thin Ice

by gabriel42



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Violence, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25087579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel42/pseuds/gabriel42
Summary: When you want to know if the ice is thick enough, sometimes you just have to put your whole weight on it and pray that it’ll hold. (Or: They say that vulnerability begets trust. Captain Pike isn’t afraid to try that.)
Relationships: Christopher Pike/Ash Tyler | Voq
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after _Light and Shadows_.

_Down – hold – push – jump – and down – hold -_

The familiar rhythm of fitness routine 2b flows through his mind smoothly, washing away the thoughts and images of the day. As his limbs stretch and flex obediently and his lungs begin to reach for more air, his brain becomes blissfully quiet, flashes of conversations and reports and memories surfacing more and more briefly before sliding away, and as the first drops of sweat begin to tickle at his neck, the snippets fade and settle like dust, leaving behind the simple clarity of physical exhaustion. 

_Lunge – duck – retreat – evade – lunge – duck – retreat -_

But even as his muscles begin to tremble with the effort, he becomes aware of a tension in his stomach that has nothing to do with sit-ups and crunches. He throws himself into his routine more forcefully, channelling whatever is inside him – _retreat – evade, fast – and lunge, and strike!_ –, but the movements somehow fail to untie the knot that is twisting his innards. 

“Captain -” 

He turns, startled – he must have missed the hiss of the door over the sound of his own breathing. (Or maybe it was his thoughts that were too loud.) Standing in the open doorway is a tall, leanly muscled figure – Specialist Tyler. He is just standing there, looking at Chris questioningly, but at the sight of the younger man, the knot in Chris’ stomach suddenly tightens. 

That would explain it, then. Ash Tyler is a man – a _situation_ , really – too complicated to get out of your system with just a few hours in the gym. It’s not that he’s disrespectful – he is, swaggering around like he knows deep secrets the rest of Starfleet has no idea about, demanding answers from Chris, blatantly challenging him in the middle of his own bridge –, but cocky Chris can deal with. But Tyler... He was briefed, of course – probably one of the most reticent and uninformative briefings of his entire career. He’s read the reports – if you can call it reading, with every second word redacted, but somehow still leaving too many mentions of ‘ancient ruling houses’ and ‘sleeper agent’ and ‘memory grafting’ and ‘Starfleet Medical was unable to account for --’. It made his skin crawl. 

And then he met the man, and looked him in the eye, and all he saw was the careful, deliberate calculation of trying to achieve... he’d-rather-not-know-what. He’s aware that not everyone shares his regard for the moral principles and ethical code of conduct of Starfleet, of course (Kat certainly teased him enough to make sure of that), but Tyler... worries him. When he’s ‘observing’ on the bridge, he seems to be taking in too much, recording and processing and carefully filing away all the information for god knows what future purposes; his black-clad form just a touch too poised for someone who is simply watching. Chris does not know what to make of the man. But most importantly, he’s seen how his crew look at the not-quite-former-colleague in their midst: like they don’t know what to make of him, either. And this – this really worries the captain. 

Chris realises he’s still standing there, the dumbbell at half-mast, probably looking a bit slow by now. He shakes it off. “Mr Tyler,” he greets, with a curt nod. And then, before his conscious mind can even question the idea, he nods over to the mats where the dummies and punching bags live: “Would you care for a few rounds in the ring?” 

* * *

That’s one way of getting the measure of a man, Chris ponders as they start slowly circling each other, looking for an opening. Feint, fall back, counter, a lightning-fast dive – Tyler is good, yes, but he’s not... ruthless. When Chris takes a side-step a touch too wide and teeters on the edge of balance for a split second, Tyler’s hand is there to catch him before he can even think about it. It is not what he expected from a Klingon spy. It is... honourable. The word sticks in Chris’ throat, catching on weeks’ worth of assumptions about the man. 

But he can tell that Tyler is still holding back. The man is always checking himself, thinking about every move before he makes it, making sure he plays his role right, that it fits his persona. Still _lying_. Chris lets out a huff of frustration. Why can’t the man be honest with him for once? They’ve faced eternity stuck in a temporal anomaly together – what more will is take to get Ash to open up? 

“Tyler,” he asks as they finally make their way off the mats. They are both breathing heavily, and Pike feels the grounding weight of physical exhaustion in his arms and legs. He darts a glance to the side, and he thinks the other man notices the tentative closeness – it’s not quite ‘Ash’ yet, but not ‘Specialist Tyler’ any more, either. “Have out had dinner?” Tyler shakes his head curtly. “Why don’t you come up to my quarters when you’re ready? If you want,” he clarifies, but he can see how Tyler straightens reflexively, and he can hear the dutiful ‘Yes, sir’ coming before he actually sees the curt nod. 


	2. Chapter 2

Ash still doesn’t know what to make of the invitation when he comes to a stop in front of the captain’s quarters twenty minutes later, cleaned up and in comfortable off-duty slacks. Dinner is a pretense, that much is clear, but what exactly does the captain want? Of course Ash knows what he _ultimately_ wants: he wants to know if Tyler deserves his trust, if he deserves to be there. And isn’t _that_ the million-credit question.

Pike has been asking this question since the minute Ash first set foot aboard Discovery again. It is loud and clear in every word, every look he gives him, in every closed door and every – It’s the same question that everyone seems to be asking these days. The question that burned in Michael’s eyes the day they – It’s the same question that keeps Ash awake at night, endless, agonizing hours alone in the darkness of his quarters with nothing but his thoughts and memories for company.

He shoves the self-pity aside and jabs the comm panel next to the door. “Enter,” comes from within. The quarters are spacious, surprisingly... homey, considering how briefly they’ve been here. Stars twinkle distantly outside the transparent aluminium bulkheads. The captain is also wearing a Disco shirt – nice touch – and slacks, and there is in fact a table set for two in an alcove next to the replicator. So far, so convincing. Ash steps over to the table warily, but he can’t quite bring himself to sit. Better to get this over with. “Captain –” “We’re off-duty; you can call me Chris,” the other man interrupts with an easy smile. Ash nods, but he doesn’t quite return the smile. He takes his time, trying to put words to the questions that are churning in his mind.

But Pike takes pity on him and turns away from this ridiculous pretense of dinner to face Ash instead. At least the man doesn’t beat around the bush; he has to give him that. “Tyler,” he begins, only to catch himself: “Ash.” He can see how wrong the name feels on the captain’s lips. Does Pike realize he’s the first person – aside from Michael – to call him that since he came back? “You know I’ve had a hard time figuring out what to make of you; whether I can trust you.” Ash waits for him to continue. “Well, I’ve decided to just... try it. Take a leap of faith, at least for tonight.” He raises his empty hands as if in surrender, leaving himself wide open, and just stands there, looking up at the murderer in front of him without fear. “Let’s see what happens.”

Ash blinks at him, at a loss for words. His mind is spinning with confusion, surprise, relief, anger – Can it be that easy? How does this man think the world works, just offering himself up like that? How can he be so unguarded?, a part of Ash rails jealously. Anger bubbles to the surface, seething rage. It’s the side of him that speaks with Voq’s voice, reminding him that these weak creatures, with all their talk of ‘trust’ and ‘friendship’, have no business meddling with a warrior. It’s the part of Ash that has counted every sideways glance, every interrupted conversation, every careful distance since... forever, and _QI'yaH_ it hurts and how dare Pike suggest that he can just make up his mind to trust Ash and make it all just go away?!

(But the worst of it are the dark, quiet hours when he starts to wonder whether they’re right, when he mulls over a punch that was just a little too forceful for a human, over snatches of Klingon that he had to bite back, when his scars shine eerily in the cold light of the bathroom and he feels the phantom beat of a second heart...)

Ash’s body is in motion in the blink of an eye, uncoiling smoothly like the warrior that he is. Without conscious thought he has rushed the human (Foolish, insolent little creature!), catching him off his guard, tackling him onto the hard deck. It is child’s play to grab his wrists, pin him in place with his weight, ready to – Ash blinks, a vicious elbow frozen inches from the other man’s face, ready to strike. 

Pike flinches reflexively, but when the blow doesn’t land, he looks back up at Ash to catch his eye. Ash draws a shaky breath. “You’re a fool!”, he spits, fully aware that he was a heartbeat away from dealing a blow that could have easily killed the other man. “You should hear Doctor Boyce,” Pike concurs lightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He is worming one of his wrists out of Ash’s grip, and Ash is too distracted to even try to hold on. 

A hand grasps Ash’s shoulder, and something inside him loosens at the touch. He becomes suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth of their bodies pressed together, somehow closer than they were in the gym. They are close enough that he can feel the beat of Pike’s heart against his own chest, see the subtle speckle in the blue-grey eyes that are watching him calmly. And just for once, he notices, there is no mistrust, no judgment – Pike seems to be simply trying to gauge his reaction, silently asking what drove him to this point, and ready to accept whatever the answer may be. 

He feels as if a great weight suddenly settles on him – weeks, months, years of being a lone wolf, of standing up for himself because no one else will, of being strong every second of every day, of needing no one because he knew in his bones that no one would come for him anyway – It all comes crashing down on him, weighing him down until he can’t breathe, isn’t sure he can even exist any more. His body, no longer tense and ready for a fight, slumps against Pike’s, crushed. His entire universe contracts to just one point of contact, to the hand that is now rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder. 

“Why?”, he murmurs brokenly into Pike’s shoulder, and he’s not even sure what he’s asking. ‘Why me?’, ‘Why are you doing this?’... Pike doesn’t offer an answer, either, but he continues the soothing motion on his back. It brings back ghosts of memories: of being picked up and held in strong arms, cradled – shadows of a childhood he didn’t actually have, a cruel voice reminds him, but for once he doesn’t care. Ash just lies there, breathing in the faint scent of standard-issue shampoo and a hint of something else, more human. Right now he just wants to simply not care, for once not think about the whole weird mess that they’re in, but to simply stretch out right here and just... be.

As he shifts his weight, Pike stiffens under him, his breath hitching uncomfortably, and the hand on Ash’s back stills abruptly. Ash raises his head to look down at Pike, which earns him another strained gasp. Pike’s mouth is set in a tense line, and his left hand is pulling feebly at Ash to get him off. Ash rolls to the side without a thought. (He had forgotten how natural it felt to be so close to another person, to be able to move with them without words. He misses the contact already.) Pike is breathing shallowly, one hand hovering protectively over his side. Ash eyes him carefully. “Ribcage injury,” Pike bites out, crooked attempt at a smile. “I guess it wasn’t fully healed yet.” Ash blinks at him for a second, then scoots his back against the nearest bulkhead and carefully pulls Pike towards him by his good arm, settling the other man against his torso to cushion the tender spot and ease his breathing. 

“What happened?”, he asks after a moment. “I threw myself on an overloading phaser,” Pike says, like it’s a joke. Then he adds, more soberly: “She was just a child. Wouldn’t you have done the same?” “I...” Ash trails off, unable to find the words. ‘I don’t know,’ he wants to scream, or shout, or sob. “I don’t know,” he finally whispers, and his throat clenches around the words like it doesn’t want them to escape. He takes a steadying breath. It feels more real, hearing himself say it. “Can you imagine what it’s like, not knowing who you are?”, he asks quietly, bitterly, to the back of Pike’s head. Part of him is relieved that the other man can’t see the fear in his eyes. 

Pike lowers his head in thought. “I can’t,” he replies finally. “But would you want to save her?” Pike tries to turn around, to look at Ash as he asks the question, but he comes up short with another hiss. Ash settles a hand on his shoulder instead to let him know he’s right there. He’s so close that his fingers brush the warm skin of Pike’s neck above the shirt collar, a lock of silky hair shot with a few strands of silver.

The human contact is electrifying. It’s something he didn’t even realize he was missing, but now that it is right here in front of him, he feels like he’s been out in space for too long and this touch is a breath of precious oxygen. His skin tingles with the desire to pull the other man into his arms roughly, to hold him and feel the warmth and the weight and the solidity of him and convince himself he is really there, not running, not turning away, close enough to touch - But Ash does not act on this impulse. He has better control than that. Instead he just tightens his hold of Pike’s shoulder, holding on like a lifeline, and they sit together in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Pike turns again, more carefully this time, to search his face. But Ash is tired of the questions; he’s tired of not knowing, of the self-doubt... He just wants to let it all go for once, and savour the feeling coursing through him: a warm, fluttery feeling in his stomach, the feeling that there is someone ready to believe he’s not a monster even if he isn’t quite sure he believes it himself. “Capt–”, he tries, but catches himself: “Chris.” It feels right to use the name, sprawled out as they are on the floor of his quarters. “What you said earlier...” He’s not even sure what he’s asking for. It’s not like he wants... He just knows he wants more of this... closeness, this feeling of being let in. “I meant it,” Chris reassures him, his voice steady and firm. 

Ash decides that this is the best he’s going to get, and that he has nothing to lose. He doesn’t take his eyes off Chris’ face as he scoots around, careful not to upset the tender ribs, and brings their faces close enough to feel Chris’ breath on his lips, the warmth radiating from his skin. Chris tilts his head, raising his chin just a fraction, and suddenly their lips brush.

Chris is firmer than the human women Ash has kissed, more assertive, with a rasp of five o’clock shadow. But the feeling of curling around his body, the flutter of his breath, the perfect harmony of moving with him like this, lips and tongue and hands... Ask breaks the kiss to breathe, but he keeps his face pressed against Chris, eyes closed, drinking in the sensation. 

He looks up when Chris begins to squirm, trying to free the arm pinned between them without upsetting his ribs. “You should go to sickbay,” Ash points out, the familiar tar-sticky swell of guilt rising in his gut, but Chris is having none of it. “And miss all the fun?”, he retorts, trying to make the mischievous glint in his eyes brighter than the lines of pain around his mouth. Ash eyes him speculatively. “I wouldn’t mind moving to a softer surface, though,” he adds, and that gets Ash’s attention.

Of course, he chides himself, the bed would be the natural place if they – since he just – His brain sputters. He wants this, yes, yearns for it more desperately than he has ever yearned for anything – but at the same time he’s not sure what exactly it is that he’s looking for, really. “Nothing you don’t want,” Chris reassures him, as if sensing his doubt. 

Before he can think better of it, Ash pulls Chris to his feet, folds himself under his shoulder to support him as they shuffle over to the bedroom. Part of him is wide-eyed and terrified at the fact that he is standing in the captain’s bedroom, that he – that they just – But another, less scarred part of him is wide-eyed in wonder, eager and hungry for whatever Chris is willing to grant him. He lowers Chris onto the mattress, curled on his good side, and pours himself down next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Now that they are face to face, he is drawn inexorably to the other man, unable to keep is hands to himself any more. He scoots closer, drinking in the heat of Chris’ body, resting a hand on his chest to feel the beat of his heart. 

Chris’ eyes are searching Ash’s face, his expression thoughtful. “Finding what you’re looking for?”, Ash asks, trying not to let his voice show how much rides on the answer, but somewhere on the way to his mouth the words lose their challenging edge. “What I hoped to find,” Chris nods. He brings up one hand to tuck back a strand of hair from Ash’s face, and Ash finds himself leaning into the brief brush of skin on skin. It feels so intimate... “Thank you,” he whispers. For everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning: the rating goes up a little in the last chapter, so you could just stop here if that's not your cup of tea.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encore! Because who wanted to keep this G-rated, anyway?

Ash’s hands have started roaming Chris’ body again, exploring the texture of his clothes, his skin, the firm lines of the muscles along his flanks, his thighs... Chris catches the other man’s eye. “Ash, do you want more?”, he asks earnestly. “This is a lot to take in, and it doesn’t have to – ” But Ash is shaking his head. “If I don’t go through with this tonight, I don’t think I’ll have the courage,” he confesses. Chris eyes him thoughtfully, but then he nods. “That is, unless you –” “I know what I’m comfortable with,” Chris reassures him. “If you’re sure...”

He reaches for Ash’s cheek again, stroking the black beard softly, then pushes himself up awkwardly to sprawl half on top of Ash, a satisfied smirk on his face. “There,” he pronounces, and proceeds to kiss Ash soundly. 

Ash’s body comes alive under the capable ministrations of Chris’ hands, and then his lips, and his teeth. He stifles a groan when Chris plants soft kisses on the fluttering pulse on his neck, and when he begins to nibble at the sensitive flesh under his ear, Ash gives up any pretense of self-control and allows himself to get lost in the sensations. His body is writhing under Chris’ weight, seeking the delicious mixture of pressure and friction. He has grabbed Chris’ ass with both hands, kneading the firm muscle through the light fabric of his trousers. 

Chris’ hands have found their way under Ash’s shirt, tracing lean flanks and contoured muscle, working up to the edge of the ribs – but suddenly Ash stills. Chris looks down at him in the low light, concern in his eyes. “Something wrong?”

Ash looks away, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin. Does Chris know about the scars, about...? Ash himself has learned to... not accept – he suspects he never will –, but at least to not think about them. He has trained himself to go through his showers without glancing at the full-length mirror that taunts him from the ‘fresher wall, has learned to get dressed in the dark, to keep his hands off his skin so as to avoid the hardened, ridged reminders of – “Hey...” He pushes aside the memories, forces himself to see only Chris’ concerned eyes. He swallows. “You know what they... did to me, right?” 

The words are wrong, they are a world away from capturing the truth, but he has no words to tell Chris – “I’ve read the reports,” Chris offers, carefully noncommittal. He’s giving me a choice, Ash realises. To tell him what really happened, beyond the clean, clinical facts that are just meaningless words on a screen. To tell him what it was like, what it felt like – what it still feels like, to sometimes wake up in the wrong body, thin and frail and so disgustingly _helpless_ , disfigured, mangled by the surgeons at L’Rell’s orders... He can still taste the blood at the back of his throat, hear the shrieking of the bone saws, feel the bite of the restraints when he thrashed against them, wild, unable to see what they were doing to him under the blinding lights of the operating theatre – 

“Ash...” He comes back to a soft voice and hands cradling his face. Delicate, too small, bereft of his proud ridges – his human face. But Chris is running a thumb along his cheekbone, smoothing his hair back form his forehead, and for a moment it doesn’t feel quite so wrong. “Ash,” Chris repeats, and this time he manages to focus on his face. “I don’t know who” _what_ “I am any more,” he whispers brokenly. Chris’ other arm tightens around him, mooring him to this circle of firelight that is the present moment, and it occurs to Ash that maybe it doesn’t matter all that much, so long as he is allowed to stay here. 

“You are a survivor,” Chris reminds him, and Ash tries to hold on to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, look at that: one complete story all in one go!  
> I hope you enjoyed this :) If you did and you feel like leaving kudos or maybe even a comment, you will totally make my day!


End file.
